


Bundles of Christmas Presents

by yourdykeinshiningarmor



Series: What is Normal, Anyway? [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, M/M, Parentlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-20
Updated: 2014-12-20
Packaged: 2018-03-02 13:13:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2813216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yourdykeinshiningarmor/pseuds/yourdykeinshiningarmor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John and Sherlock start the next stage of their life together  but, of course, it can't go normally.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bundles of Christmas Presents

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written fiction for many years and the Christmas season has apparently inspired me. Please let me know what you think and if there are any major errors. Constructive criticism is also appreciated, just leave me a comment or send it to me on my tumblr.
> 
> NOTE: I've now posted an updated version of this. No changes, just cleaned it up a bit :)

John’s shoes tapped out the pattern of his march across the well worn linoleum of the waiting room floor. Six short, but deliberate, steps, a pause, a precision about-face, and six more steps back the way he came. He didn’t realize it but his feet hit the exact same spots on the floor with each turn. Sherlock did; at any other time, he would admire the blonde’s accuracy, but currently his focus was only on the man and the concern written all over John’s body.

It was late on Christmas Eve and Sherlock and John had spent most of the day at St. Bart’s. However, instead of experimenting down in the lab, they were becoming familiar with the obstetrics floor. Sherlock drifted into his mind palace as he reviewed their journey to here. It had all started a year ago after Greg invited John, Sherlock, Mycroft, Molly, and Mrs. Hudson to his flat for an oddball Family Christmas with his kids. Sherlock spent half the day in a strop until John gave him the look, handed him a small glass of scotch, and walked away. Sherlock took the hint and behaved enough to actually start enjoying himself. The detective, aided by a few more glasses of scotch, began mentally deducing those around him, silently adding the information to the files he had on each person, stopping only when a deduction about John made him suddenly rethink his entire life.

When they arrived back at 221B that night, Sherlock flopped himself on the leather couch, raised his hands, and rested his long fingers below his chin. John shook his head, covered Sherlock with a blanket before heading down the hallway to bed. John wasn’t surprised to find him in the same spot the next morning and simply proceeded on with his day. Tea and biscuits were left next to Sherlock on the table, and, although unasked for, would disappear while John was out of the room. It was evening before John was startled from updating his blog by a question from Sherlock.

“Do you wish to have any children?”

John stared at Sherlock for a long moment, not sure if he heard him right. “I’m sorry, what?”

“It was a simple question,” Sherlock huffed, hating to repeat himself. “Do you wish to have any children?”

John thought a moment, brow furrowing and eyes turning to the floor, not quite sure where the question was going. “Well,” he started, “I guess… I, yes, I did always think it would be nice to have kids.” He paused a second before adding, “Not that it’s something I absolutely need or anything.” He waited a moment longer before looking back to Sherlock, blue eyes meeting the steely grey ones.

Sherlock stared back at John for several moments, taking in everything about the blonde man before proclaiming, “I would like to have a child with you.”

John couldn’t help it; a laugh escaped his lips.

“What? Why is that funny?” The creases in Sherlock’s forehead deepened.

John snapped his mouth shut, chest still heaving for a few for seconds before he had fully contained his laughter. “I’m sorry,” he said finally, laughter still dancing on the words. He took two more breaths to calm down further. “Sorry, I just never thought I’d hear you say those words.” John looked at Sherlock, face hardened after the laughter. John let his own face relax, letting his thoughts and emotions radiate out through his features and body language.  Over the years, he’d found this was sometimes the easiest way to communicate with Sherlock.

After several minutes, the crease in Sherlock’s brow softened and his face relaxed. John felt the corner of his lips twitch, this time with happiness.

“Of course, I’d love to have a child with you,” the smile spreading across his face mirroring the one spreading across the detective’s.

Mysteriously, Mycroft had appeared the next day offering a belated Christmas present of access to one of the most prestigious fertility clinics in the whole of England, without any cost to them. Sherlock merely smirked at the offer from his sunken-in spot on the couch, apparently not having moved an inch since the previous night, while John had been left speechless with his chin threatening to touch the ground. It was some minutes later when John finally regained the proper use of mouth.

“First,” he asked, pointing a finger at Mycroft, “how did you know we’ve decided to have a child? Especially, as we just came to that conclusion last night. And second, why?”

Mycroft’s lips twitched at the questions and he answered in true Holmesian fashion, completely ignoring what he didn’t want to answer. “My good Dr. Watson, if I am to be surrounded by your progeny, I would prefer it be actually from yourself or my brother, as the probability for a thoroughly plebian child acquired through other methods is quite high.” He paused a moment, twirling his umbrella. “Besides, even with the consultation fee New Scotland Yard has decided to grace upon you for the use of your services, you two cannot possibly afford the best options. And neither one of you is getting any younger.”

John was floored at the statement, nearly livid at the thought that Mycroft had any say in their future children. John flexed and clenched his hands several times, attempting to collect himself before he released the verbal tirade that threatened at the edge of his lips.

Thankfully, Sherlock chose that moment to get up and took the three steps up and over the coffee table that he needed to reach John. Sherlock faced John and rested the palm of his hand on John’s stubbly cheek, turning his face so their eyes met.

“What Mycroft is trying to say,” Sherlock paused as he swung his head to send a brief glare in Mycroft’s direction. He looked back to John as he continued, “Is that he would like to give us the option of having our own genetic children and in a timely manner.” He gazed in the blue eyes, thumb absently stroking John’s cheekbone. “While the facts could have been delivered with more tact, and that’s something coming from me, none of what he said is untrue.” A lopsided smile and small shrug of his shoulders acknowledged the truth of the words.

John continued to stare at Sherlock, letting the words wash over him. A sigh finally passed John’s lips, releasing the breath he hadn’t known he was holding. “Can we at least talk about this before we say yes?” he whispered to Sherlock.

“Of course,” a genuine smile graced Sherlock’s lips, twinkling up into his eyes.

They ultimately accepted Mycroft’s gift; several months later, they found themselves with a surrogate and twins on the way. Both men had offered the other to be the father, knowing how much it meant to their partner but after talking to their doctor it was decided that each man could father a child and that a surrogate was available who wouldn’t be opposed to carrying twins.

That brought them to today. Not the due date for the twins, that was still three weeks away, but their soon to be birthday nonetheless. Their surrogate, Amelia, had called that morning to say she was in labor and they were all at hospital a few hours later. The twins were far enough along that the doctors weren’t concerned about trying to delay the birth, instead letting nature take its course. Things had been progressing nicely; Amelia was near fully dilated when the fetal monitor began alarming for a decreasing heart rate. One of the babies was declining and it wasn’t clear why. The decision for an emergency C-section was quickly made and before either man had a clear grasp of what was happening they were escorted by a nurse to the waiting room while Amelia was rolled to the OR.

They hadn’t been in the small pink and blue striped room for more than fifteen minutes, but that was more than adequate time for John’s doctor brain to kick itself into full gear and anticipate worse and worse outcomes for the impending surgery.

John’s measured steps pulled Sherlock out of his thoughts. On his next pass, Sherlock stretched out a hand. “Honey,” he whispered, using John’s pet name, his fingers barely brushing the cold skin of John wrist.

John stopped instantly, hearing Sherlock use the name that rarely left the bedroom, let alone the flat. He spun around from the momentum of his pacing, Sherlock’s fingertips effective anchoring him in place.

“Would you sit with me?” Stormy eyes looked into the unsettled blue, each reading the concern and fear in the other. “Please?” The word was hardly louder than a whisper.

John nodded. Sherlock’s long fingers laced through his own as he was guided down into the molded plastic seat to the left of Sherlock.

“Sorry,” John said, lifting his face to the dark haired man next to him. “Pacing isn’t likely to help either of us at the moment.” His left hand pressed into the back of Sherlock’s, sandwiching it between his smaller hands.

“Neither will you imagining increasingly unlikely scenarios that could be occurring.”

“But what if... if something happens… something bad happens.” John’s breathing was shaky, hands rubbing roughly over the detective’s. He kept his face down, unable to meet Sherlock’s.

Sherlock knew where John’s fears lay, his own just as dark.

“Worst case scenario is that we lose all three of them,” Sherlock stated, wanting to get the nastiest bit out.

John’s breathing hitched, hearing the words out loud.

“However, the probability of such an event is low. Even I was able to discern that, while the situation is urgent, and haste was required, this sort of event is not uncommon and the staff did not seem overly concerned with the actions being taken.” Sherlock paused, letting the words sink in, before he continued. “This is perhaps one of the few times I am grateful for less than full knowledge of a topic, as it is obviously a bit not good for you at the moment.”

John smiled at the attempt to make him feel better and looked up at Sherlock. While his words didn’t stop the thoughts, it at least allowed his rational brain to turn down the volume of them a bit. He leaned in and pressed his lips to Sherlock’s full ones, the kiss chaste but full of emotion.

“Thank you,” he breathed against the detective’s mouth, tilting his face down and resting their foreheads together. “We haven’t even really met them yet, don’t even know if they’re boys or girls, but I already love them so much.” He drew in a ragged breath.

“I know,” Sherlock answered. “I feel the same. Even Amelia, if she were lost, would be acutely felt.” Sherlock pressed his other hand to back of John’s neck, caressing the side of his neck behind his ear. “But there is no need to borrow trouble if there isn’t any to be had yet.”

John nodded. Neither felt the need to move or speak, but each continued with their soothing caresses. It was several minutes later that they were interrupted by a gentle cough. Both their heads snapped up at the noise, eyes greeted by Molly’s sweet smile.

“I heard what happened,” she explained. “I asked one of the nurses to send me updates. Just wanted to see if you’ve heard anything yet, or if I can get you anything.” She shrugged and took a few steps closer, lowering herself down in a chair across from them.

“No news yet besides that they’ve started surgery.” John looked through the wall towards the OR. “Shouldn’t be too much longer I’d imagine.”

Molly nodded, “I know it doesn’t really help, but for what’s worth, I’m sure everything will turn out fine.”

John and Sherlock both smiled in that sad way that belied the otherwise happy gesture; it expressed more of the concern they felt than happiness in the comment.

Molly rose to her feet and closed the distance between them. “I can’t stay, got work downstairs to get back to. I just wanted to check on you two boys.” She placed a hand on each shoulder and gave it a quick squeeze. “Send me pictures of the newest lab monkeys when you can?”

Sherlock smiled and John gave an honest huff of laughter at Molly’s pet names for the twins; he knew all too well that they would be making an appearance at the lab far younger than was medically advisable.

“Yes,” John said.

“Of Course,” Sherlock replied at the same time as John.

Molly smiled, before turning and heading back downstairs, her white lab coat swirling about her in a decidedly Sherlockian fashion.

Molly’s visit had lightened the mood somewhat. When the doctor reappeared a few minutes later, he was met with normal concern on their hearts instead of the overwhelming dread that had been wrestling for position. Detective and blogger both rose quickly from their seats and met the doctor in the middle of the room.

“John, Sherlock. First thing, everyone is ok,” he smiled.

“Oh, thank God,” John rasped, sinking into Sherlock’s solid form standing behind him.

“Amelia is still in recovery but we’ve got two new babies that are fussing about the wait to meet their fathers. Are you ready?”

John looked up over his shoulder to Sherlock, and saw his huge grin mirrored in the other man; both shared a feeling of unadulterated glee at the prospect of meeting their children. They turned back towards the doctor.

“Lead on,” John answered, gesturing towards the door.

When they arrived, Amelia’s bed was empty but two cots were very visible on the other side, along with a nurse in front of each; they turned at the sound of the new arrivals. Both John and Sherlock froze just feet within the door, the sight of the cots making it all shockingly real. Before either man could say anything, each had a tiny wrapped bundle placed in his arms by the nurses on their way out.

Before leaving, the doctor said, “We’re just down the hall if you need anything.” With a final nod, they were alone with the twins.

John looked down at the sleeping bundle in his arms. A thick mass of black curls stuck out of a tiny pink bonnet on the infant’s head; her fist was curled tight and resting against her mouth. John looked down in amazement at the tiny new person sleeping in arms. It was several long moments before he could draw his eyes away from his daughter and look towards Sherlock.

Sherlock was frozen with an equal mix of trepidation and awe. He had never seen such a tiny person before and scarcely knew what to do. The infant was sleeping, lips parted and tiny tongue working at the air. Wisps of blonde hair peaked out of the blue bonnet covering the babe’s tiny head. Sherlock hardly breathed for fear of disturbing his son.

When John finally looked at Sherlock, he couldn’t help but laugh at the look of utter bewilderment that graced the usually confident visage. Sherlock’s head rose at the noise, finally taking note of the infant in John’s arms.

“It’s a girl,” the detective whispered with a smile.

“Yes, with your hair.” John peered over towards Sherlock’s bundle, “And you’ve got a boy.” He let out another laugh. “With my hair, it seems. Guess we know who fathered who.”

John reached out, gently caressing the tiny cheek in Sherlock’s arms, before finding the cheek above their son.

“Happy Christmas, Sherlock,” John’s voice overflowed with love and emotion as the last hour finally sank all the way in.

“Happy Christmas, John,” Sherlock said with a smile, one that threatened to stay on his face for many days to come.


End file.
